


Yesterday upon the stair

by Craftybadger1234



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Obliviation, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 17:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12537380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftybadger1234/pseuds/Craftybadger1234
Summary: Luna can't remember the slender boy that isn't there.This story is about a child of 14 molesting a child of 9. It doesn't go into horrid detail, or explain why. It just is.





	Yesterday upon the stair

**Author's Note:**

> For all you Percy-lovers out there, I'm sorry he's the villain here. He was the right age.
> 
> This is written in a different sort of style for me. I hope it reads well enough.

Ginny isn’t quite paying attention to the essay she is meant to be writing. She keeps looking over my shoulder at something that I can’t see, further back in the library. Her words trail off absently.

“Wrackspurt got you?” I ask, peering at her carefully.

“I - what?” Ginny asks, startled from her reverie. A slender boy that isn’t there, his face hidden as ever, stands by her side. Reaches for me. Caresses my cheek. 

“A Wrackspurt…” I blink. Rapidly. But he remains. “They’re invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy,” I say. _Did you forget me_ he asks. _Remember me. Forget me._ “You forgot for a moment.” 

The boy flickers. He’s next to me, his hand on my thigh. _No one wants you_ he says. But the other voice, layered over his but his again, says _I want you._ The voice echoes like a song in the shower. Words over words. Which ones are his and which are his creation?

“Oh! Right, sorry.” Ginny shakes herself and looks down at her notes. “I just got distracted.”

“It’s all right. I know they’re more interesting than I am.” 

_No one wants you_ he says. _My girl. Strange girl._ Words curl over each other and the sounds blend. _Time to forget. Pay attention now. Do as I say. No one likes you. Open for me. Such a good girl. Such a lonely girl._

The memory is broken.

\--------

His hand caresses my face as he holds me in his lap. Comforting and kind, his words relax me. I rest my head against his shoulder. His hand runs down my face. Over my hair. Down my back. Soothing circles. Lower, on my hip. Across my thigh to my knee. And back up my thigh. Higher each time. His fingertips brush against the edges of my knickers.

“Such a sweet girl.” His words tickle in my ear. I’m trembling with nerves but he quiets me. “Shh, my sweet girl. Open for me?” His hand slips between my thighs, twisting to press my legs open. “So beautiful. That’s it,” he says as my legs spread open for him. “I want you. I want you so much,” he says. His thumb traces over the thin cotton of my pants. A draft of air on my bare legs makes me shiver.

From downstairs, we hear my father. “Percy! I’m back!” 

His hand leaves my thigh, pulls my skirt back down. My father calls again, “Percy? Luna?” I hear him pottering around the kitchen.

“Coming!” Percy calls out. He smiles sadly at me. “Time to forget me. Obliviate.”

The last few minutes shimmer and crack in my mind. Layered over with something new. _Such a lonely girl. No one wants you. So strange._

In the kitchen, my father hugs me tight. “Did you have a good time?”

“I don’t remember. It’s all fuzzy,” I say. 

“Must be wrackspurts,” my father says, needing something to explain the melancholy of his only child. “They’ve plagued us since your mother died.” He shakes his head. Sad again. Percy steps in the flames and is gone.

\--------

“Tart?” Ginny offers, holding out the small package of tarts from her mother. My mother is gone. Gone and then he came. _I’ll help you_ he says. _Take care of you. Sweet girl. You taste sweet. Sweet as sweets._

“Oh, thank you. That's nice.” The sugary fruit dissolves on my tongue. “Like snozzberries.” _Open for me. A sweet for you. A special lolly. Just for you. Sweet but bitter._

“What are snozzberries?” Ginny asks with a smile. They always thinks I’m making it up. But it’s not me that makes it up. He told me. The slender boy that isn’t there leans over the tarts. Snozzberry. The lolly. It’s smooth and hard in my mouth. Sweet but not sweet.

“They're sweet round berries. Bitter aftertaste.”

 _Open for me._ Sugary sweet on my tongue. A rush of hot bitter liquid. _So sweet_ he sighs. Just for me.

\--------

“My sweet girl, I have something for you. Something special.” His smile is small, his eyes darting in the way that makes my hair prickle.

“What is it?” I ask. I don’t want it, whatever it is. I don’t remember why.

“It’s a lolly. A special sort. Just for you.”

“Oh.” My interest is piqued. Who doesn’t want sweets?

“Close your eyes for me.”

I obey, because I always do. Such a good girl, always paying attention. His finger coasts along my lips. “Open up,” he whispers.

I know it’s not a sweet. Fear makes my eyes shut tighter. He is smooth yet hard on my tongue. He fills my mouth. Saliva pools and spills from my lips. His hand caresses my hair. “My sweet girl. Do you like it? So good.” He moves slowly so as not to hurt me. My breath huffs out hard and I want to scream but there’s not enough air. He holds tight to the back of my neck, tilting my head, opening me more.

The hot rush of bitter liquid startles me. I cough as it slides down my throat, dribbles out of my mouth. My cheeks are wet with tears. I don’t open my eyes when he uses a soft cloth to clean my face. I don’t open my eyes when I hear his clothes falling into place. I don’t open my eyes when my father calls out that he his home.

I shiver at Percy’s heavy sigh. “It’s time to forget me. Obliviate.”

My memory is still fractured, still fuzzy. My father greets me and asks after my morning with Percy.

“It was fine. He brought me a lolly. It tasted of snozzberries.”

“Oh! Sweets before lunch! You naughty boy!” He winks in good humor at the serious young man in our kitchen. “Was it good?” My father asks me, smiling with hope that I’ve had a good day. One good day since my mother died.

“Sweet. A bit bitter at the end, but good.”

Nodding a goodbye, Percy steps into the green flames.

\--------

I pull Ginny out of the way of the mistletoe hanging in the corridor outside Charms. The memory mistletoe shimmers over the corridor one. I remember at home. The mistletoe my father hangs, although my mother is gone. Christmas is Christmas and we need more. Always more. The boy wants more. 

“Be careful of the mistletoe,” I say quietly. “Nargles like to hide there.” I see the mistletoe in my mind. They steal my things. _They take them_ he says. He holds me close. So very close. _Keep you safe_ he says.

“What are nargles?” asks Ginny, laughing. The slender boy that isn’t there squeezes at my throat, stealing my words.

I look warily at the mistletoe and clear my throat. “Mischievous little creatures. They like to hide your things, cause trouble.” My knickers are missing. My socks are gone. But I look down and I see them on my feet. The memory tells me the socks are gone. No, it’s my knickers. _Nargles took your knickers. Let me see._ Gone, they’re gone. _So soft, so warm. Beautiful. Where are your socks._ Socks on my feet. It’s my knickers that are gone. _Let me see. Let me see._

\--------

My clothes are dripping wet from the snow.

“Take them off,” Percy says. “We’ll get you something dry to wear.” He pulls a clean robe from my wardrobe and lays it on the bed. He kneels in front of me to unfasten the wet robe. Each button slips open, revealing more of my chilled skin. My nipples are hard nubs he rubs over with his thumb. I shiver when a drop of water falls from my plait to my belly.

“Your plaits,” he says, tracing one with a finger, “are just long enough to tickle you with.” He smiles his small smile. He lifts the end and paints circles on my cheek with the wet tip. Slides it down my neck. Circles my nipple. I shiver again. 

My wet robe falls to the floor and he dries me carefully. The towel is thin and I feel every press of his fingertips on my skin. He slides a dry sock on each foot. Socks up to my knee. But his hands continue up my thigh. I shiver again.

He wraps me in the fresh, dry robe. He kisses my skin goodbye with each button fastened. He circles my nipple with his tongue. Kisses my neck. “Open for me,” he whispers against my mouth. His tongue is hot and strange in my mouth. I can’t remember if he’s done this before.

“M-m-m-my knickers.” I stutter out.

“What, my sweet?”

My voice is raspy in my dry throat. “My knickers are missing.”

He turns me so we can see the mirror in my room. I feel him, hard, pressed against my back. He points to the mistletoe decorating the mirror.

“Nargles,” he says, “hiding in the mistletoe. They must have taken them.” He wraps his arms around me and whispers in my ear, “I will keep you safe.” His hand slips between us. Opens his robes.

“I want to see,” he says. His voice cracks as he says, “Show me.” 

He knows. I know he knows. He dressed me. But he likes me compliant. His good girl. I reach for the hem of my robe. It slides slowly up my body. I hold the robe up, bunched at my waist. I see him looking at me, licking at his lips. One of his hands moves behind me, rhythmic and slow. The other comes around my waist, his hand splayed against my belly. 

“Do you want to see me?” he asks. I don’t. But he is there beside me, hard and long. His hand pumps up and down a few times. Liquid drips from the tip. “What do you think of that?” he asks with his small smile.

He reaches for me again. My hands clench tighter around my robes. “You are so soft.” His hand caresses between my legs. “Open for me,” he whispers. “Yes. My sweet girl. Can I have more?” He parts my outer lips, one single finger probing at me. “So warm. Just one finger?”

I don’t know how to say no. My body shakes as he slides one finger inside me. It burns.

“My sweet girl. So beautiful. So good.” He leans in to kiss me. His hand moves from between my thighs to grip hard at my hip, pressing me to him. He gives a short strangled cry and my thighs are wet with his release. He sags against me for a moment. “So good.”

He cleans me up and fixes our clothes. I stare at the mistletoe above the mirror as he slides my knickers up my legs. “Time to forget?” I ask.

His eyes widen in surprise, but then his small smile is back. “My good girl,” he says. He presses his lips to mine. “Obliviate.”

I see myself in the mirror. I don’t look cold anymore.

“Oh good,” he says, “you found your socks.”

I look down at my stockinged feet. “They were missing,” I say hesitantly.

“Yes. But we found them. These things always turn up.” He pats me on the head and leads me to the kitchen.

We are drinking hot chocolate when my father comes home, his arms full of presents for Christmas. It’s going to be our first without my mother and he is determined it will be perfect.

“Did you have a good time this afternoon?” he asks me.

“Nargles took my socks but they gave them back.”

“Oh good,” he says with a fond smile. He claps Percy on the back as he leads him to the fireplace. Percy leaves with a whoosh of green flame.

\--------

“Muggle nursery rhymes often have a magical element to them,” Professor Burbage says as she opens her book to read aloud,

“ _Yesterday upon the stair_  
_I saw a man that wasn’t there._  
_He wasn’t there again today._  
_Oh, how I wish he’d go away.”_

Professor Burbage looks at the mix of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. “So, what do we think?”

“He's a bit of a nutter, seeing folks that aren't there,” calls out a brash Hufflepuff. I think his name is Peter but I’m not certain enough to call him so. The slender boy that isn’t there nods his hidden head. Only crazy people see someone when there’s no one.

Professor Burbage smiles. “There was reportedly a haunted house near the author and people frequently saw ghosts there.” But it’s not a ghost, it’s a memory. A broken memory.

Misha rolls her eyes, “Ghosts aren't scary.”

The professor, as always, rushes to defend the muggles. “Muggles can't see them all the time like we can. True ghost sightings are rare.”

“It’s a memory of something that didn’t happen.” I say aloud.

Everyone laughs, some quietly with embarrassment, some loudly with malice. 

“Don’t be stupid, Luna,” says the boy that might be Peter. “You can’t have a memory of a thing that didn’t happen.”

“Mr Emmery, do not call your fellow students stupid! Five points from Hufflepuff!” Professor Burbage frowns at him, but turns with a smile to Luna. “Actually, Ms Lovegood is not wrong. Obliviation, especially if done poorly, can leave afterimages of the original memory that overlap the new memory. Muggles are frequently obliviated to prevent their discovering the magical world. So it is entirely possible the residents of the area were obliviated in a hurry to hide some sort of magical event and yet they still see pieces of it from time to time. It’s difficult to determine, then, what is real and what is not.”

“Can those memories be recovered? Restored?” Misha asks. I want to kiss her for asking the question I need the most.

“It’s unlikely. Obliviation done correctly can sometimes be lifted but when the memory has been fractured enough to reveal the afterimages, it’s too difficult to separate the real and false memory. The townspeople will never know about the man on the stairs.”

Professor Burbage sends a small parchment flying off to land on each desk. “Here is a list of other nursery rhymes. Before class on Monday, I’d like you each to… “

I scribble my assignment absently. Lost in the memory of a thing I don’t remember.

_Time to go, my sweet girl. Time to forget me._


End file.
